Having lain down on their back for 100 minutes during Wednesday’s semifinal, wriggling around while Portugal tried to grab hold of them, Spain has squeezed through in dreary fashion to a second consecutive final at Euro 2012.

Even the shootout failed to impress. How does that happen? Somehow Spain continues to find ways to drain the fun from this enterprise. They are robbing us all of something, and none of us even understands how the bailout works.

After Portugal’s Bruno Alves slammed his effort into the crossbar, Cesc Fabregas’s iffy game-winning effort caromed in off the post. Spain won 0-0 (4-2).

Following a game full of high-pressure whiffs, it ended before Cristiano Ronaldo could take his own penalty. If he’d missed, we’d all have something to talk about.

In Ronaldo’s defence, at least he tried. He didn’t manage anything in a game that could have solidified his reputation, but he was up for it.

By the time it wound toward the inevitable finish, all neutrals were gagging on Portugal’s behalf. Even if they didn’t deserve better, the rest of us certainly did.

There have only been two contests out of 29 here that have ended 0-0 in regulation. They’ve come in the last two games. Whatever dreams we had of play opening as the results got more important are being snuffed out, in the main by etherizing efforts of the defending world champions.

From the outset, this was the sort of match bound for penalties. It was the sort of match that begged for you to finally get around to cleaning out your garage, as long as you could manage it in a couple of hours.

Some will point out that it was frenetic and tense. Unless you are Portuguese, Spanish or a degenerate gambler, that amounted to a grinding bore.

The fluent drudgery on display will only embolden Spain’s expanding anti-fan club.

Three saves. That’s how many shots required a goalkeeper’s attention in more than two hours of “action.” Three lousy saves.

In regulation, there were zero highlights to report. None. Andres Iniesta rounded in on goal in the 68th minute and launched one from distance straight at Portuguese keeper Rui Patricio. He caught it. You could have, too.

That was it. Hemingway could’ve written the game story.

The Portuguese tried desperately to engage Spain in a fight, but the Spanish ran. Not backward, like the English. But sideways and forward and diagonally and then backward again. Every which way but at goal. If some Donetsk janitor had forgotten ladders on the field, they would have climbed them. This was the most watched game of tag in human history.

As one commenter at the Guardian put it mid-game, Spain only looks good if you turn your TV on its side. Then every endless square pass is positive.

With the crapshoot of penalties looming, Spain decided to engage with 20 minutes left. Maybe there was an insomniac friend sitting beside you at that point who shook you awake. Or maybe you needed your rest after the garage.

For just a little while, the Spanish began to tepidly show what they’re capable of. But Portugal had done too much work to that point, and quite justifiably weren’t going to open things up when it most suited their opponents.

Three hours of effort, and they might as well have decided pre-game to kick balls through a flaming hoop. That’s about what it amounted to.

Unless your heritage is at risk, it no longer matters who wins Thursday’s dogfight between Italy and Germany.

All that matters is that whichever team advances promises to teach Spain that this is a form of entertainment, not a tika-taka public-service announcement we’re all compelled to sit through.

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